Whiskey
by Cerulean.Phoenix7
Summary: She was fragile at best and shattered at her worst, but she was willing to test her limits.


Whiskey

A/N: I know it's a little late but this is Olivia's perspective at the end of '6B'. I just couldn't resist writing something after that marvellous episode.

Also, a big thanks to everyone who has read, favourited, reviewed or alerted my stories so far you are all awesome and it brightens my day when I see how many people are reading my work. Keep reading and reviewing and I will keep writing :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Fringe. Even if I did there probably isn't much that I would change.

* * *

It was never in her plans to show up at Peter Bishop's door with a bottle of whiskey.

But then she hadn't planned on a lot of things over the past few days, she had never planned on having to stop a vortex from ripping apart this universe.

She also hadn't planned on kissing Peter. In some hazy daydream perhaps, but in reality she though that there was still a void between them.

The truth was the farthest thing from her island of understanding; it was wonder that she'd even seen it on the horizon. It was the notion that perhaps the barrier wasn't a wall between them but Olivia herself.

She'd noticed that she'd kept her hands in her pockets for most of the last two days, she wasn't sure why. Maybe it was to hide the scars from over there.

She examined her hand in the moonlight; the scars looked like pale vipers in the glassy light.

She had bottle of whiskey tucked under her right arm; she'd found that it was often a source of refuge for her, but now it was a pedestal for her courage to urge her onward.

She strolled up to the house and gently knocked on the door; the sound resonated like a trumpet call. He opened it with the softest of smiles and the kindest of demeanours.

Of course some would place her actions in the category of presumptuous, but at that moment the only person who really concerned her was Peter; and the notion of being presumptuous seemed to be far from his trail of thought.

There was a spark of something a little mischievous in his eyes when they clinked their glasses together; it made her turn her hand a little, just in case he happened to look there.

She'd discovered lately that she was fragile at best and in shambles at her worst; but at that particular instance she was willing to test her own fragility.

She'd never expected that the words would come out of her mouth with such ease, especially under the influence of whiskey.

"I want what you want."

That mischievous spark was back.

"Well what do you think we should do about that?"

She abandoned inhibition at that moment for the luring promise of spontaneity, leaning in to brush her lips with his. He increased the pressure, moulding his soft lips against hers. It was then that she took her hand from her pocket and gently tried to curl it against the arch of his neck, but the motion of his tongue against her lips distracted her and her arm fell against his shoulder.

He was beyond intoxicating; he was absolutely delicious, and her insatiable hunger for him had just become jarringly evident. She was overwhelmed with the weight of her spontaneity and parted her lips from his.

That spark was still there, and she found it rather appealing.

She took a few steps past him and then pulled a hand from her pocket and held it out to him. She found it strangely coincidental how the faint scars on her hands seemed to curve towards him. It was an invitation at renewal; her surrender to vulnerability, but if an ounce of vulnerability opened the door to Peter a little more then she'd be happy to compromise.

He entwined his fingers with hers before she led him up the stairs. There was something exhilarating and audacious about the entire situation and that's what made it so enticing.

The realisation came when she was three steps from the top; the gentle weight of his hand in hers and the sheer boldness in her step. It came from a courage she didn't know she had.

They reached the top of the stairs and Peter flicked the lights off as she ran her hand along his cheek. There was nothing parting them, nothing there wedging them apart.

And it was in that moment that she realised how beautiful freedom was.

* * *

**Please Review :)**


End file.
